Rachel sat on the bed cross-legged, Puck seated on the edge. The motel room Sam and Dean had rented out was exactly the same as the one Puck and her had gotten. Same two single beds, same wallpaper, same cheap wooden end tables.

'Say Bloody Mary really is haunting this place – there's just too many fucking versions of the story to actually figure out who she is,' Puck said.

'Doesn't look like Dad found any evidence that the legend was real,' Sam commented, paging through a brown leather journal. Rachel noticed the way both Winchesters seemed to handle the object with reverence, treating it almost like a bible. Did every hunter have one? She hadn't seen Puck with any sort of diary or reference manual.

Perhaps I should start one?

Twisting around Rachel reached for the drawer beside Dean's bed, snagged the lined paper and complimentary pen usually stashed inside. Turning around she saw Puck tick his eyebrow up, Dean and Sam giving her confused looks.

'A Hunter's Guide, by Rachel Berry*,' she murmured under her breath, writing the title out in neat capital letters before drawing a perfect star at the end. Rachel smiled down at the black ink against the yellow paper.

'Don't ask guys. Trust me,' Puck shook his head, brushing off the narrow gaze Rachel sent his way.

'Well usually the way it goes is that someone says…you know what and gets ganked. But here Daddy gets it instead of the kid,' Dean drawled out.

'Still in front of the mirror and still with the eyes though,' Puck pointed out.

'So do you think its local? Some woman who died nasty? Or maybe like a mutilated bride who got jilted?'

'Every version of the legend's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers—public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill,' Sam remarked.

'Well that sounds annoying,' Dean groaned, falling back onto the bed he was situated on.

'I'd be happy to volunteer,' Rachel announced. 'I've helped Santana draft her case notes and I am extremely adept at getting old librarians to help me if required.'

'I'll go with her.'

'Really?' Sam looked at his brother, mouth open.

'Hey! Just because I didn't go to college doesn't mean I can't read,' Dean shot back, jaw clenching.

'I'll go with Berry-'

'Noah, I believe that I'm perfectly capable to look through microfiche in the library. I doubt I'll encounter a possessed book. Besides, Dean will be with me. Think of it as a nice break from my larger than life personality,' Rachel remarked, patting him on the shoulder.

Puck frowned at her before swiveling around to stare at Dean, who raised his hands in surrender.

An hour later, leaving behind an uncomfortable Sam with a slightly glowering Puck, Rachel found herself at the local library.

'This is the part that really sucks,' Dean mumbled out of the corner of his mouth as they looked through the town's local death records for what the older Winchester termed "anyone who died angry and in front of a shiny surface. And weird I guess". With that lofty criteria in hand, Rachel had perused the voluminous books dutifully, marking down anyone that fit the mould.

'Oftentimes it's the things we dislike the least that contribute towards success the most,' Rachel retorted lightly. 'My Dad always told me that.'

She could feel Dean's eyes on her and was grateful when he let the quiet between them steal over again. Rachel squinted at the name Dave Robertson; not knowing whether laughing would be the appropriate response when she saw that he had died after a giant mirror had fallen on top of him. It was tedious work that Rachel thought suited Sam more and she wondered why Dean had requested to come along with her.

'Does it usually take a long time for you to find what you need?' Rachel asked after a while as Dean scribbled down something on a post it note.

'What?'

'Does all this take up a lot of your time?' Rachel repeated her question, gesturing around the library with her hands.

Dean shrugged lightly. 'Depends you know. Sometimes we get lucky and it's the first thing we stumble across. Most times its just a shitload of time staring at useless crap and wishing you could torch the place.'

'I see,' Rachel answered, lips pulling upwards. 'You're a man of action, just like Noah.'

'Noah,' Dean chuckled. Rachel didn't understand what was so funny.

'So could you please enlighten me as to why, precisely, you wanted me alone with you in a library? Don't,' she flashed Dean her palm. 'I already knew it when I said it, and I certainly hope that your response isn't anything crass.'

The smirk on his face lingered for a moment before Dean heaved out a long sigh, pushed his fingers through his hair. Rachel made sure her stare didn't waver, fingers resting comfortably on the worn, aged paper beneath her.

'It's about Santana,' he finally said, sounding reluctant.

'Santana Lopez? My Santana?' Rachel sought to clarify.

'Yeah. Nice ass, killer lips,' Dean stated matter-of-factly. 'I kind of…God, I can't believe this shit. I need her number.'

'Her number?' Rachel mimicked surprised.

'Dude. Seriously.'

'I just…my Santana? And you want her number? Why?' Rachel demanded, thrown. She furrowed her brow, mind reaching for when she had noticed anything happen between her best friend and Dean. They had gone to Omaha and then they had acted a bit…weird. Rachel had chalked Santana's behaviour up to Blaine's funeral, remembering the grief and turmoil that had warred within her heart and mind during that time.

'Hey Ray, I think I did something that I fucking shouldn't have done.'

'Did you put razor blades in your weave again?' Rachel joked, the night air hitting her in the face as they followed the rest of the former McKinley glee club out of the Roadhouse.

'I'm being for reals here,' Santana told her seriously and Rachel stopped in her tracks.

'What is it?'

Santana opened her mouth, about to speak, but something over Rachel's shoulder had caught her eye. The Latina then handed her off to Matt and Mike, turning away to wrap Kurt in a hug.

'She never told me what she did…' Rachel whispered before something clicked into focus. Omaha…something she shouldn't have done…

Her eyes widened as she looked at Dean, who scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

'What did you do? I'll have you know that Puck has made sure I'm a small but deadly weapon-'

AC/DC's Back in Black sliced through the hushed, tense bubble that suddenly seemed to be wrapped around Rachel. Mrs Henderson, who baked the town's best chocolate fudge and also served as head librarian, peered at Dean aghast through her thick glasses.

Dean, for his part, flashed her a winning smile before pressing the phone to his ear, mirth disappearing as the person on the other line spoke.

'Jill's dead,' he told her, tone flat. 'Strangled and eyes gone. Let's go.'

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